


daybreak

by flowerpendulum



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angry Dean Winchester, Angst, Brothers, Character Death, Demon Dean Winchester, Diary/Journal, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Hurt Dean Winchester, Illnesses, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Supernatural (TV), Sad Castiel, Sad Dean Winchester, Sad Ending, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-06 13:18:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12818370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerpendulum/pseuds/flowerpendulum
Summary: It’s hard to rescue someone when you’re drowning too.Both patients in a psychiatric hospital, Castiel tries to save Dean from his demons while fighting his own battle.





	1. the newcomer

_December 23_

Castiel dates the page. He doesn't bother putting the year; time passing by makes him sad for reasons he nor anyone else can fully explain. He's thought about it before, but his mind is a mystery to everyone, especially himself. Besides, without a year on the page, Castiel hopes that anyone who reads his journal in the future can apply it's words to their own lives , which would be made much easier without a complete heading that would date his works. It won't always be the current year, but there will always be a December 23.

He takes a moment to admire the new page before covering it with his words. Castiel worked very hard to obtain the journal; a simple book, with clean, crisp pages and a beautiful leather cover. It's almost too beautiful to disrupt with writing.

Castiel sighs, wishing he had a proper writing utensil, instead of the leaky blue-ink monstrosity he had been provided with when given the journal. But he knew better than to complain; complaining gets you nowhere.

"Castiel?"

"Hm?" He looks up at the gentle voice, standing in his doorway.

"It's almost lights out."

Castiel sighed, slightly annoyed. He had just started writing, but tried his best to hide his irritability. He should have started sooner.

"I know."

"I'll close your door on my way out." she replied, her voiced teeming with trained patience.

"Thank you Meg, I won't be up long." Castiel gave her a faint smile, and his door was shut as she exited. Castiel glanced at the clock, his heart beating faster when he realized she was right; 9:52 P.M , bedtime only eight minutes away. Castiel's mind scrambled to focus, so many words needed to be written in the short amount of time he had.

He aligned his pen with the page, hand trembling. Castiel cursed the medication; it always made him shaky.

_If appearances were to reflect what was truly inside a person, I wonder what I would look like. Perhaps a Picasso painting, my mouth on my forehead and one of my eyes by my chin. The outside of me just as messed up as the inside. And normal people, depending on whether or not they led righteous lives, would mostly be model-perfect. A beautiful face for a normal mind. Yet from experience and history, we know there is always the people striving to be different. Conceivably, someone may covet all of my faults if that were so. What a messed up place the world is._

The lights clicked off, and Castiel's room became eerily quiet without the consistent hum of electricity running. Castiel huffed, upset he got so little work done. He leaned down to the desk and blew on the pages to dry the ink. Castiel could not take any chances at possible smudging; it would completely wreck the journal.

Once he could be sure it was safe, he closed the journal, centering it on his desk and placed the pen on top.

Guided by the moonlight streaming through his small window, Castiel made his way to the bed, yanking free the precisely tucked sheets and climbing in. The heat in the building was turned down at night, and Castiel could feel the cold December air creeping into the room from outside.

Castiel longed to be outdoors, to feel the breeze against his skin and the sunlight on his face. Since checking himself into the hospital two months before, he had yet to go outside. Just like a journal, that was a privilege that must be earned. He nestled into the mattress, pulling the sheets up to his chin, and closed his eyes.

 

The clock on his wall read 3:38 A.M. when Castiel was abruptly awakened by commotion in the hallway. He sat up, arms covered in goosebumps from the chilly air, but was too distracted by the voices in the hall to notice. Light shone under the door, and shouting voices echoed through the halls.

One voice stood out above the rest, in volume and in tone. That particular voice sounded almost strangled; desperate and helpless, like a wounded animal. But also angry. As it got closer to his own door, Castiel was able to make out what they were saying.

"Please, just calm down-"

"You're telling me to calm down?"

"Stop struggling."

"Hands off, pal!"

Castiel flinched at a bang on his door, but as the yelling continued he realized it must have been the mystery person struggling, trying to escape. Castiel rose from his bed, intrigued. Most of the patients at the hospital were there by choice, like Castiel. It was odd and very rare to have a person being forced into care, especially at this time of night.

From his time at the hospital, Castiel knew that a late-night delivery of a hostile patient usually signified that it was an immediate transfer from somewhere else, typically another hospital that didn't have the means to handle said patient any longer.

Castiel personally knew one patient of this nature: Benjamin. He was only a patient at Castiel's hospital for a week or so, during Castiel's first few days there. He, too, arrived in the middle of the night after remarkably violent outburst that resulted in the hospitalization of a nurse.

The two bonded over being newcomers, but Castiel's access to Benny was limited due to Benny's condition. Why he left or where he went were unknown to Castiel, and he thought of his acquaintance often, hoping he worked out what troubled him so much. The noise continued as the patient and the cortege of nurses entered the room next to Castiel's, their shouts muffled by the drywall.

Castiel pressed his ear against the wall, but flinched away as the aggressive crashing continued. Eventually, the noise stopped, the door closed, and the hallway lights clicked off as the footsteps of the nurses grew quieter.

And it was silent once more. 

3:57 A.M.

Castiel could not sleep. He had rolled over, adjusted his pillow, even ran in place for a short while to try and tire himself out. But nothing worked.

So he sat, cross legged in the middle of his bed, sheets tucked neatly under the mattress, and waited. He didn’t really know what he was waiting for, but decided it was better than doing nothing.

Castiel considered waiting for dawn, but this time of year, it would be long before the sun rose. After that, the hospital would awaken, and all of the patients would proceed to their normal morning routines.

It occurred to him that is was now, in the early hours of the morning, Christmas Eve.

Castiel smiled. He always adored Christmas.

Once it was daybreak, Castiel sat at his desk, doodling on a piece of scrap paper in the faint light until he heard the distinct unlocking of his door, always at 7 A.M. sharp.

The lock clicked, and Castiel opened his door, unsurprised to see the small paper cup of pills waiting for him outside the door. Now, choosing whether or not to take them was completely up to him, but Castiel usually chose to take them anyways. 

He only refused on the bad days, when he preferred to do nothing else but sit in the library and remember.

Today, he took the medication, swallowing them before crushing the cup in his hand, and throwing it in the hallway wastebasket. The floor was cold under his bare feet as he proceeded to the showers, holding a spare white t shirt and pair of sweatpants. 

Of course, all of the clothes would be checked before he entered the shower, just in case he was hiding something dangerous or against the rules.

On his way down the hall, Castiel stayed alert for the newcomer. He doubted that the patient would be allowed free reign of the hospital, especially considering how hostile he seemed the night before, but perhaps Castiel could spot him on his way to therapy or a monitored shower.

He passed by all the usual people, most he knew of well since many had been patients at the hospital long before Castiel checked in. Castiel kept to himself, though.

He never really found himself to be a people person, and would typically say something off-putting or invasive before he could make any friends.

“Castiel!”

There were few exceptions, though. 

Michael called his name, and Castiel turned and greeted him with a smile. 

“Good morning, Castiel.”

”Good morning to you, too.”

The two walked down the hallway together.

”Did you hear all of that noise last night?” Castiel asked, wondering if anyone else noticed the newcomer.

”How could I not? He damn well woke up the entire block.” Michael laughed, and Castiel admired his light-heartedness. He could always turn to Michael when in need of a friendly perspective.

”He’s in the room next to mine.” Castiel said, accepting the disposable toothbrush being handed to him. He made a mental note to wonder why, of all things, the patients weren’t allowed to have their own toothbrushes.

Michael turned to him, a mischievous look on his face. “You  _have_ to tell me everything you find out.”

Castiel knew what Michael was in for, unlike many of the patients he talked to, but the two never discussed their conditions.

”Don’t you think that’s a little intrusive?” asked Castiel meekly. He, too, was also intrigued by the newcomer, but was trying to follow the doctors’ advice of minding his own business. Prying always got Castiel into trouble.

”Nah! If he’s willing to be that crazy here, the guy’s got some explaining to do.” Michael laughed again, and Castiel chuckled politely, not seeing any point in arguing with Michael over something so silly.

The two separated as Castiel headed for the showers, and Michael went to the bathroom.

 

After his shower, Castiel went back to his room to pick up his journal. Dr. Weston recommended Castiel bring his journal to group sessions so he could share his thoughts. Castiel was unsure on sharing his writings, but he decided that the doctor knows best. His group session started at 8:30, giving Castiel time to go to the library and pick out his book for the day. Now, that doesn't mean Castiel reads a book a day, but he did read a different book every day.

Castiel thought that since every day's a new day, every day deserves a different read. He picked out what Michael suggested, some skinny biography on Alexander Graham Bell that Castiel could finish in a day if he wanted to. It didn't look like a riveting read, but there was always tomorrow to find something new and interesting. 

Castiel picked up his book and headed to the quiet room. Usually, Castiel's group session would be with patients in similar condition, but as soon as Castiel entered the room he sensed a different atmosphere. Other patients glanced nervously at the corner, where a nurse sat behind a stark figure. Castiel swallowed as he took his seat, tightly clutching his journal. He glanced up, and figured that this must be the newcomer.

Across the room sat a broad-shouldered, rugged-looking man. His hands were clenched tightly into fists, and Castiel noticed the restraints that held his wrists together. The intimidation factor was increased even more so by the several bruises blossoming along his arms, and the stitches that held together a nasty looking laceration on his cheek.

He sat silently, then making eye contact with Castiel, who quickly darted his eyes away. Castiel turned his attention to the doctor, a new one who looked just as tense as the patients in the room. He cleared his throat.

"Welcome, to both our resident patients and to new ones alike." He gave a slight nod to the newcomer, who ceased to react in any way. "Let's start by introducing ourselves. I'll start. My name is Dr. Haverhill." The doctor motioned for the next person to go, and each patient introduced themselves until it reached Castiel.

"Hello. I'm Castiel." A murmur of "Hello, Castiel" rippled through the room, but the newcomer stayed silent. That is, until it reached him. He was visibly reluctant to speak, and the nurse behind him nudged his arm, provoking him to participate

"I'm Dean."

That was all. Castiel was surprised at the deepness of his voice, and even more surprised at the eye contact Dean made with him as he introduced himself. Castiel fought the blush he felt rushing to his cheeks, but he knew by the hotness of his ears that his face betrayed him, and by the small smile that pulled at the corners of Dean’s mouth.

So the newcomer had a name. Dean.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this worth continuing? i think i have something good going here


	2. the greenest eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't update this often usually but i banged out another chapter since the first one got a pretty great feedback

_December 24_

_It’s nearly Christmas. I’m almost disappointed at the lack of snowfall. I was really hoping there would be a white Christmas this year. There’s just something inexplicably magical about snow on Christmas; it’s a pair that’s meant to be._

Castiel stopped writing, noticing his letters becoming increasingly erratic-looking as the medication kicked in.

He decided to continue writing later, once he regained full control over his extremities. He carefully blew on the page until the blue ink turned matte, and then closed the journal.

Besides, Castiel could not seem to be able to get Dean out of his head. There was so much mystique surrounding him that Castiel couldn’t help but be filled with intrigue.

Castiel made a decision. He was not sure yet if it was a good decision or a bad one, but then he made a second decision: that he would never know unless he tried.

He noticed that, after group, Dean was escorted back to his room, and was no longer under constant supervision.

Slowly stepping into the hallway, Castiel resolved that this was the kind of situation that someone could compare to ripping off a band aid, not that Castiel was ever any good with analogies or figures of speech.

After much embarrassing experience of not understanding certain references, he stopped taking their literal meanings as gospel and settled on loose interpretations he could later confirm with Dr. Weston. 

This was a situation that must be carried out quickly and without hesitation. Castiel always found that he over-analyzes what both himself and others do and say much too often.

He shook his head, trying to bring his focus back to the door in front of him. Dean’s door. Hand shaking (though he was unsure if it was the meds or nerves), Castiel raised a fist to the door and knocked twice, the gentle raps on the thick door barely making a sound.

Castiel huffed, irritated he had to work up the courage to knock a second time. He brought his fist to the door and moved to knock—

And then the door swung open.

Standing there, a sour expression present on his face, was Dean.

Castiel lowered his hand quickly once he noticed how close it was to Dean’s chest.

Dean raised an eyebrow expectantly, but Castiel just stood there, simultaneously too startled to speak and feeling like an idiot for having his mouth gape open like a goldfish.

”Yes?” Dean asked, and Castiel felt like he finally had the permission to speak.

”Hello, my name is Castiel.” He said, immediately cursing himself for being so awkward.

”Uh, yeah. I know. We were just in that room together, like, an hour ago.” Dean leaned against the door frame, opening the door further so he was in full view of Castiel.

”Yeah, I know. I was just, y’know,” Castiel mumbled, glancing at his sock-covered feet. “Re-introducing myself.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Uh huh. Well, buddy, you’ve got some name there. The kids must of given you hell.” Dean slapped Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel flinched at the sudden and unexpected contact. 

“Kids?”

”Yeah, like, at school. When you were a kid. ‘Cause of your name...”

Seeing he was getting nowhere by Castiel’s confused face, Dean dropped it.

”So is that all you’re here for? To reintroduce yourself?” Dean asked.

Castiel shifted where he stood. “I suppose so.” He looked at Dean’s eyes; such a deep, emerald green. Castiel smiled; it reminded him of the grass outside, and the trees in the summertime. Dean averted his gaze.

”Then what the hell are you still doing here?” Dean’s sharp tone brought Castiel back to the present.

”Excuse me?” Castiel asked, startled by the change in mood.

”Damn right, excuse you. Some people have things to do.” Dean spoke with anger his voice, slamming the door.

Castiel took a step back, processing what just happened.

Unable to make sense of it, Castiel turned on his heel and left, residing to his room. This is where he remained for the rest of the morning and afternoon, skipping both breakfast and lunch.

It was only when dinner was announced over the loudspeaker that Castiel rose from his spot on the bed and walked to the dining hall.

Castiel wasn’t very hungry, though. Conjoined with the dining hall sat the recreation room, that housed many of the holiday decorations the staff decided to put up.

Castiel wanted to admire the Christmas tree.

It wasn’t exactly the best looking tree; the staff couldn’t select anything over five feet. It tended to droop with the weight of the decorations, the plastic kind that couldn’t be broken and used as a weapon.

But if he sat on the floor, right at its base, and looked up, Castiel felt like a child again, marveling at the bright, beautiful display.

So he took his biography to the rec room, where he sat in a chair next to the tree and read.

Castiel made it to page 27, but found his mind drifting. He slid a piece of paper between the pages as a bookmark and closed the book, bringing it to his chest as he crossed his arms.

Castiel could not stop thinking about Dean. After reading many of the books the library had in the psychology department, Castiel tried his best to diagnose Dean, so he knew how to talk to him the next time the two came into contact. 

Castiel knew he was being invasive, but he wanted to talk to Dean. If that meant finding out why he was here so he wouldn’t evoke a response like the one Dean gave him this morning, then so be it.

Castiel sighed, bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his feet on the edge of the chair. 

He wracked his brain for an explanation. Maybe Dean is bipolar? It would explain the sudden change in mood.

Castiel shook his head, reminding himself not to dig. Dean’s business is his own.

The hall was quiet; everyone must be eating. Nurses would come looking for Castiel after he skipped two meals, so he figured he would make their jobs easier by retreating to the dining hall.

There, Dr. Weston stood with his arms crossed, as if he knew Castiel would be arriving.

”Good evening, Doctor.” Castiel greeted him.

”Is it, Castiel?” the doctor raised his eyebrows.

Castiel weaved his way through the tables and patients sitting at those tables, but Dr. Weston followed close behind.

”We missed you today at breakfast and lunch. You disappeared after group.” the doctor said nonchalantly, as though he wasn’t being accusatory.

”I had a headache.” Castiel hated lying to the doctor, but he couldn’t risk the doctor knowing that he had been prying at the new patient.

”Uh huh.” The doctor gave Castiel one last glance, and Castiel flashed him a small smile, hoping it would dissuade the doctor from saying any more. Dr. Weston turned and went to another part of the hall.

Castiel gave a sigh of relief and sat down at an empty table, placing his book in front of him. He brushed his hair away from in front of his eyes.

”Hey!”

”Nurse!”

Noise began near the front of the hall. Castiel, not wanting to be at the center of commotion, left, slipping out the back door to the stairwell.

Castiel exhaled, grateful for the peaceful silence in the stairwell. 

He slowly made his way up to the third floor, ready to retire to his room for the night.

”Hey.”

A voice behind him nearly made Castiel jump out of his skin. He whirled around, and saw Dean, standing on the stairs a few steps below him.  Castiel clutched his chest, trying to calm his heart down. People sneaking up behind you in the hospital is something that is not a normality.

"You good?"

Castiel almost forgot it was Dean standing there, and nodded, feeling stupid for not saying hi back, but still to busy battling his anxiety to say a word. Dean looked at Castiel, probably expecting him to say something, but seeing as Castiel stayed silent, Dean continued on with what he wanted to say.

"I just wanted to apologize to you for how I acted earlier. You didn't deserve it, and I'm sorry."

That was the last thing Castiel expected Dean to say, but at the same time he was glad that Dean didn't come to yell at him again, or worse. Dean stared up at him, and Castiel knew he had to say something.

"It's alright. I shouldn't have sprung myself on you like that."

"Yeah, but I shouldn't have insulted your name. Even though it is a mouthful." Dean chuckled. Castiel was about to apologize for being so awkward, but realized that this wasn't an apology war. Dean was playing with him. He stayed quiet, not sure what he wanted his next move to be, and Dean smirked.

"I have an idea." Dean said, smiling.

"Oh?" Castiel asked, walking down a step.

"Yeah. How about I call you Cas?" Dean smiled again playfully, leaning against the railing. Castiel smiled; he hadn't been given a nickname since he was a child.

"Cas?" He asked, playing along with Dean's game.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, why not? It's easier to say," he began to descend the stairs. "And it's adorable." Dean reopened the door to the dining hall, and then turned back to face Castiel.

"See you later, Castiel." Dean' smile fell slightly as he exited the stairwell, leaving Castiel smiling on the steps, lost in thought.

Eventually, Castiel collected himself, and walked up the few flights to his room block. By this time of night, other patients had also begun to return to their rooms for the night as well, leaving the hallway a crowd of various patients trying to squeeze into the bathroom and take their medication before lights out. Castiel was handed a paper cup by the nurse, and he studied the different pills, wondering if he should take them. If he took them now, he could squeeze in more time writing before lights out. Or, he could not take them at all.

Though the day had been a whirlwind of stress, with both good and bad events, Castiel decided that the making of a new friend made the day primarily good. He wouldn't want to disrupt that by not taking the pills and then remembering.  He downed the pills and tossed the cup, wanting to utilize as much as the time he had left, racing both the side effects of his medication and the imminent shutting off of the lights.

Castiel sat down at his desk, and opened his journal up to the day's page, and continued writing was he started earlier.

 _Christmas is the time of year in which families get together, for most people. But I prefer not to think about that. Instead, I like to admire the decorations. The shimmering chains of lights, and sparkly tinsel strung across ceilings, all of it is so wonderful and magnificent. I suppose it's normal people who have those big reunions that everyone in the family attends, bringing dishes filled with_ _different casseroles and piles of gifts. Sometimes I wish that I had one of those types of families, but then again from what I've read, the less family, the less drama. It's unlikely I would need any more drama in my life. My loneliness is less of a curse and more of a blessing. Merry Christmas Eve._

Castiel concluded his entry, feeling satisfied with the thoughts he was able to put out on the page. He dried the ink, closed his journal, and looked up at the clock. 9:58 P.M. Just in time.

Just as Castiel was climbing into bed, he saw the light under his door be blocked from a shadow outside. A piece of paper silently slid under the door, and Castiel, curious, got up and walked to the door. Just as he picked up the paper, the lights turned off and the door clicked, locking.

Castiel huffed, frustrated. Desperate to read his secret letter, Castiel rushed to the window, positioning it in such a way that the thin stream of moonlight shined directly on the paper. He smiled so wide he felt it pull at his heartstrings as he read what was scribbled on the piece of crumpled paper:

**Merry Christmas Cas**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment!!! any feedback is good!


	3. no memory

_48 hours earlier_

 

Down a long country road in the backlands of Illinois, a black ‘67 Chevy Impala stopped at a run-down gas station to refuel at dusk. It’s passengers: two brothers, the Winchesters, bickering on who’s turn it was this time to get the snacks.

The younger one gave in, and begrudgingly got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. The car shook with the impact.

”Hey!” Dean yelled at his brother, leaning out the window. “Until it’s yours, treat my baby with some respect!”

Sam rolled his eyes and ignored Dean, pulling open the door to the shop, the bells chiming. The cashier didn’t look up from his magazine as Sam strolled through the aisles, selecting random bags of junk food he knew Dean would enjoy, and a bag of low-sodium beef jerky for himself.

Dean loved to rip on Sam for his attempts at eating healthier, among the many other things he held over Sam’s head.

The two had been nearly inseparable following the death of their father three years before. Dean missed him like hell, but both of the brothers knew that nearing the end, their father could be a mean bastard. Especially to Sam.

Since beginning their trip, Sam and Dean had frequented Sioux Falls, South Dakota to visit their honorary uncle Bobby Singer. Bobby was a father figure to them while their dad was out on whatever odd job he could find.

Besides the Dakotas, the Winchesters had crossed the country more times than they could count; most of the time driving aimlessly through the states and listening to the classic rock station on the radio.

Of course, they had their bumps. Deans had more brushes with the law than he’s proud of, and though he tries, Sam has always found it difficult to hide his problems from Dean.

He dropped the items on the checkout counter, and waited for the cashier to ring them up. Tapping his foot impatiently, Sam looked outside for Dean.

 

The sun dipped behind the trees, casting long shadows on the road and the building. Dean emerged from the gas station bathroom, located alongside the store.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, the cold air biting at his fingers. About to turn the corner, he heard the bathroom door slam down the alley behind him.

Dean turned around.

”Hello...” He called down, and when he received no reply, Dean shrugged, and continued walking. 

Then pain, a sharp pain in the back of his head, and darkness.

 

Sam thanked the cashier, but was confused when he went back outside and saw just the Impala, keys out of the ignition, and it’s engine cold. 

“Dean?” He looked around, his eyebrows furrowed together. Out in the middle of nowhere, there’s only so many places Dean could be.

He checked the car : full tank of gas. So he filled the car, then what?

Sam dropped the bag of groceries on the ground, and went to search for Dean. The sky got darker by the minute, the only light the flickering neon sign for the gas station.

He circled the building, and found a separate area, hidden by the store, that seemed to be the bathroom. “Dean?”

And then he found Dean. 

 

 

When Dean woke up, he thought he had been blinded. All he saw, staring out with his eyes wide open, was nothing.

But soon, a blurry picture appeared, like a camera lense out of focus. 

A hazy ceiling, with white panels, directly above him. Indoors, instead of the forest scenery he had last remembered. How long was he out for?

Every bone and muscle in Dean’s body ached. With every breath he took, Dean felt as though a rope had tied itself around his lungs, constricting every inhale and exhale.

And then his head: deep throbbing pain, feeling as though brain had been shaken up in his skull like a mixed drink. Concussion, he thought.

Dean groaned in pain as he tried to sit up, but found himself being pulled down by his wrists.

Handcuffs attached Dean to the cot he laid on. 

“What the-“

He pulled at the shackles, and they rattled loudly against the metal frame of the bed.

”Can somebody tell me what the hell’s going on here?” he yelled, squinting through what seemed to be a doorway. His head pounded, his vision fading and pulsing with shooting pain that echoed in his brain.

A man with sympathetic eyes in a white coat walked into the room.

”Hello, how are you feeling?” he asked, picking up a clipboard and flipping a page back.

”I’m fine, doc. What’s going on? Where’s my brother?” Dean asked, trying to sit up. 

“You don’t seem to have any broken bones or major injuries. Some cuts and bruising, a moderate concussion at most.” The doctor averted Dean’s gaze.

”Where’s the guy I was with, doc? Tall, lanky, long hair, you seen him?” Dean asked, his voice sounding more pleasing. All he could think of was finding Sam.

”And why am I chained down? I want answers!” Dean raised his voice, but the doctor didn’t react. He just placed the clipboard back onto the table and stepped back.

”Do you not remember anything? Anything at all?” the doctor asked with an incredulous look on his face.

”What did I do?” Dean asked, more nervous than curious. The doctor shook his head, muttering under his breath. 

“Hey, excuse you, but I’d like to know what’s going on.” Dean said, narrowing his eyes at the doctor.

”We need to run a psych evaluation on you. Just a few simple tests, nothing to worry about.” The doctor made possibly the fakest smile Dean had ever seen, left the room. 

Dean scoffed. “Sure, pal!” he called out the door. Sitting back into the cot, Dean still felt unsettled, and his headache was still booming.

Dean only now noticed the blood, covering his hands and smearing up onto his arms like a pair of red gloves. His own knuckles busted open. Dean breathed faster, pulling on the handcuffs again. 

“Hey, I need to find my brother!”

People walked by, but no one responded. Dean flailed his legs around, trying to kick something, to get someone, anyone’s attention. His heart beat rapidly in his ears.

”Sam!”

 

Dean has always hated feeling helpless. When he was younger, and his father would drag the brothers across the country to work, Dean would despise sitting idle, while he could be helping his father. 

There is one time he can remember, when him and Sam were chasing each other around the motel room and Sam fell. Only a toddler, Sam cried, and Dean didn’t know what he could do. He wanted to help, but only being a kid himself, he couldn’t do anything but hug Sam and wait for their father to come home.

Not much has changed since then.

Only in his memories did Dean feel at peace. It was like when the flame of a candle stands still; the light unmoving, constant. Everything: time, life, just stops.

 

Dean blacked out not long after the doctor left his room. He didn’t know if he was sedated or if it was from the concussion, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was finding Sam.

When he woke up, Dean was no longer in the hospital room.

Instead, he was in an ambulance, still handcuffed, but his hands were bandaged. Now washed clean, Dean could see ropes of purple and blue bruises tracked up and down his arms. His body felt heavy, and he rolled his head to the side to find the EMT who he knew would be riding with him. 

“Whe— Where...”Dean coughed, trying to get the words out. “Where are you taking me?” He asked, craning his neck to see her face.

”To the hospital.” She replied, adjusting the bag next to her. 

“Wasn’t I just at a hospital?”

”Different kind of hospital, buddy.”

Dean turned his neck, and saw out of door windows of the ambulance that it was night. 

“In the middle of the fucking night?” Dean said. The EMT just shrugged. Dean huffed.

When the ambulance came to a stop, it wasn’t the EMT who opened the doors. Instead, two men in all white opened the doors and undid the straps holding Dean down to the gurney. 

“Hey, wait a second—“

Dean was lead by his arms down and out of the ambulance, and through a glass door of a brick building.

Most of the lights were off, but Dean could make out the labels on the walls.

Floor 1 - Patient Visitation 

Floor 2- Patient Boarding and Therapy

Floor 3 - Offices 

“Therapy?” Dean scoffed as he was pulled toward the elevator, barely having time to walk to the pace they lead him.

One if the men pressed floor 2 in the elevator, and the elevator shuddered to life, lifting them up to their destination.

Once the doors opened, Dean could see down the long hallway that he would inevitably be lead down. As he was pulled from the elevator, Dean resisted.

”There’s no way in hell I’m going anywhere until someone tells me what the fuck is going on!” Dean yelled, stopping in his tracks.

The nurses on both sides of his remained steadfast, holding tightly to Dean’s arms, and Dean winced at the pressure on his bruises.

 "Please, just calm down-" the nurse said.

"You're telling me to calm down?" Dean yanked his arm away from the man, but his wrist was grabbed and twisted behind him.

"Stop struggling."

"Hands off, pal!" Dean kicked his leg out, hitting a nearby door as he squirmed, trying to escape the grasp of the nurses.

Dean was forced through an open door into a small, white room with only a desk, a chair, and a bed.

He continued to reach for anything to hold on to, but the bed, along with the other furniture with the exception of the chair, was bolted into the floor.

”Let go of me!”

Dean felt new cuffs being slipped over his wrists, the soft, padded kind that crazy people wear, and resisted even more. 

The nurse reached into his pocket, pulling out a syringe with a cap on it. Dean’s heartbeat pulsed in his ears and he writhed in the bed.

”Don’t you dare touch me with that needle!” He pulled away, but the needle stuck into his bicep and before he knew it, Dean felt the cold medication flushing through his veins.

Feeling faint, Dean relaxed his arms, letting his hands fall to the bed. The room began to spin, and his head felt heavy.

And Dean welcomed sleep like an old friend.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally updated :) leave feedback!


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